Part 18 (1/2)
He did not look at Polly, who sat in a low chair near by; but she turned to him with an exclamation on her lips. It was arrested, however, by her uncle's response.
”It surely seems to be the only way to fix matters. To begin with, she is my brother-in-law's daughter, and it doesn't seem fair to have her out of the family. If my wife were living she would never hear to such a thing, and Floyd wishes her to come to us as much as I do. She will have a mother in my sister, who has kept house for me the last three years, and I can give her every advantage that a girl should have. Of course, she can visit you occasionally, and we shall always be glad to see you in our New York home or in California. I bought a place down on the Pacific Coast, some six years ago, and I have kept adding to it until I have quite a ranch. It gives us an ideal home for the coldest weather, though this last winter we made only a flying trip there. Business called me across the water, and Floyd would rather dabble in chemicals, and incidentally put his eyes out, than do anything worth while. He doesn't take to manufacturing. Wish he did!
My two younger boys, Harold and Julian, I put in a military school last fall, and they're having a dandy time. They will be home soon for their spring vacation, and then Polly can make their acquaintance.
They are fine little fellows. Julian is captain of the junior football team, but Harold doesn't go in for athletics. You'll find him curled up with a book at almost any hour. Let's see--he must be about your age. How old did you tell me you are?”
Polly, thus addressed, murmured, ”Eleven”; but only her lips moved. It was as if an automaton spoke.
Mrs. Dudley, glancing that way, was startled.
The soft brown eyes were wide and brilliant, and a scarlet spot on either cheek lighted the pallid face. Polly was gazing at her uncle as if held by some strange power.
”He is only ten,” Mr. Westwood was saying. ”Julian is fourteen. But there isn't difference enough to matter. You three will get on admirably together.
”Better let her go back with me,” he went on, turning to the Doctor.
”Mrs. Calhoun, my sister, will fix her out in the way of clothes. You can buy anything in New York, from a shoestring to--”
n.o.body heard the end of that sentence, for, with a leap, Polly had the floor. Her eyes flashed, and her voice was tense with anger and determination.
”Uncle Maurice,” she cried, ”I s'pose you mean all right; but I guess my mother knows how to get my clothes just as well as anybody, and you needn't think I'm going to New York, you needn't think so a single second! Why, I wouldn't leave father and mother for a million dollars! I wouldn't go for ten million dollars!”
”Well, Miss Highflier!” Mr. Westwood threw back his head in a chuckling laugh. ”Some spirit in that little frame of yours! Shouldn't wonder if you took after your father. Chester was a fiery boy. Now, come here, and let me tell you something.”
Polly's head went up defiantly. ”I'm not going!” she insisted. ”You needn't think you can coax me into it! You can't!”
”Polly!” The Doctor's voice was gently admonitive.
”Excuse me,” she apologized. ”I didn't mean to be impolite. But I shan't go!” She moved obediently towards her uncle, and he placed her on his knee, where she sat, submissive but alert.
”I want to tell you what a splendid time you'll have with us,” he began.
”Other folks have tried to buy me,” remarked Polly.
”Have they, indeed! It is a good thing to be marketable,” with a whimsical glance towards the Doctor.
”I don't like it,” returned Polly.
”Well, you won't have any more such trouble after you come to New York.”
Polly was silent, but her lips were set, and her eyes grew ominously dark.
”Now, in the first place, you shall have anything in the world you wish,--dolls, toys, and a playroom to keep them in, and a whole library of story-books. Then parties--whew, you ought to see what parties Julian and Harold have! They'd make you open your eyes with envy!”
”Mrs. Jocelyn gave me a beautiful birthday party,” responded Polly with dignity.
”Ah? But it wasn't a New York party. You don't know what kind of parties we get up in New York. Why, the flowers for the boys' last affair cost two hundred dollars!”
Polly gazed down at the rug, and followed the intricate lines of the pattern.